Burn
by SaintJames
Summary: After a brutal murder, Eric's godson comes to live with him. Said godson teams up with the CSI crew to play matchmaker! HARDY BOYS SLASH!
1. Eins

**A/N: this story won't be updated as much as the other one because most of the stuff involving the case is true and it hurts to remember.... which is why the kid has my name.  
WARNING: Spoiler for Lost Son, violence, and slash...  
Also, I don't own CSI: Miami. I sure as hell wish I do, but, alas, I do not. If I did, Speed wouldn't have died (so sad), Ryan would still have been hired (cheer), and Eric would be with Ryan cuz they're the hottest couple EVER! Since Speed is dead (cry cry cry) and Ryan and Eric aren't together (cry cry cry), I must not own CSI: Miami.  
Have fun reading and reviews are very loved! ~Callum (smiley face)**

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There was a pang in Eric Delko's heart when he saw the boy sitting with his back to one of the Hummer's tires. He seemed underweight and couldn't have possibly been over fifteen. His jean-clad knees where brought up to his chest and his arms where wrapped tightly around them to hold them in place. Although it was nearly ninety degrees outside, he was wearing a black hoodie that had bones on it in the right spots. He had short blond hair with black roots, but he wore a dark brown beanie that covered it up. Said beanie had a bill that was pulled down low to hide striking cyan eyes that showed how hard he was struggling not to cry.

"Cal," Eric called, dashing to the boy's side. "Callum, are you okay?" The boy looked up in confusion at the Cuban man standing to his right.

"What are you doing here, Eric?" he whispered. He tried hard to keep the pain out of his voice.

"I'm a CSI, Cal. It's what I do. What are _you_ doing here?" Cal took several deep breaths before glancing over to the crime scene.

"My dad and Benji…" Tears streaked down his pale face and he made no move to wipe them away. "They're dead. They were shot… My parents are dead, Eric." Eric sat down next to Cal and hugged him against his chest for a moment.

"It's going to be okay, Cal. We're gonna get this guy and he's going to pay for it." The boy wiped his eyes and shook his head.

"You're not going to be allowed to do anything, Eric. I know how this works. My mother named you as my godfather, remember? I'm a victim. You'll be kicked off the case for sure." Cal took another breath and leaned close to Eric. "I need to tell somebody, but I don't know if I can." Eric's eyes went wide with worry.

"Tell someone what? Are you hurt?"

A lone tear escaped Cal's eye as he whispered, "He tried to make me …." Cal took a deep breath and started over. "He tried to rape me."

"What?" Eric yelped, jumped to his feet, and then lowered his tone drastically. "He did _what_?!"

"I won't say it twice. He didn't do it, though. Heard the sirens and…" He pointed down the street where the perp had gotten away on a motorcycle. "When Timmy… you know. I saw the guy's gun and now I can't get it out of my head." Cal hit his head repeatedly on the tire he was leaning against. "I just see him getting shot and I couldn't do anything… It's playing on repeat, Eric, it won't stop!"

"Cal. Callum, look at me. What happened that day, that wasn't your fault, do you hear me?" Eric grabbed the boy's shoulder and shook it slightly. "You couldn't have stopped that, Callum!"

"You're wrong," he whispered, shaking his head furiously. "How many times have I kept after you to clean your gun? And Tim was like… Your best friend. I saw him often enough, I could have kept after him too. But I didn't. I didn't and he's dead because his gun wasn't cleaned properly and I could have stopped that from happening!"

"Callum, don't say that. You know that's not true!" Eric was practically yelling, but Cal didn't hear him.

"I could have saved his life. I could've warned him or… There was a gun next to me. I could have given him that one, but I froze up. I could have done something… I didn't, and it's my fault he's dead. Him, Benji, and my dad… They're all dead and I didn't do anything to stop it."

"Cal, look at me. Stop talking and look at me." Slowly, the teen obliged. His normally bright eyes were dull and empty as tears ran down his cheeks once more. "What happened is not your fault. You couldn't have saved Benji and you couldn't have saved Marcus."

"And Tim? I could've stopped that, and you know it!"

"Cal! You were twelve. You had a gun pointed at your head. If you had tried to give Speed the gun, you would've been shot between the eyes. Speed would have still died. You can't blame yourself for what happened. Ever. It's not your fault. You're innocent, okay? None of this is your fault."


	2. Zwei

**Since I am, essentially, Callum Mantreux... I decided to make the kid more like me! Which means, he speaks a multitude of foreign languages and is very OCD. The scene at the end of the chapter actually happened to me once, and I freaked out. I think I washed my face for about two hours... You pronounce my last name man-trow, by the way. Comments and criticism- always welcome. Please and thank you~ Callum**

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"I'm not as-" He cut himself off and hit his head against the tire once more, squeezing his eyes shut. "Your sleeves, Eric. Your sleeves are uneven." Eric couldn't help but smile a little bit as he attempted to fix his shirt.

"Better?" Cal opened one eye and quickly closed it again.

"That just made it worse," he groaned. Eric laughed quietly and tried again. "Stop laughing at me, Eric, you know I can't help it."

"Sorry, sorry. My sleeves are even now, you can open your eyes."

"How the hell are they even?" Cal asked, jumping to his feet. "Let me do it. Lord knows I won't be satisfied until I do." He rolled both sleeves all the way down and then carefully rolled them up to his elbows. "There. Now they're even. Stop laughing, Eric!"

"It's _funny_," Eric defended, holding his hands up. Callum smirked slightly and gestured behind the half-Russian man.

"Horatio Caine and his glasses of justice approach." Eric lightly smacked the teen's arm.

"That's just rude. True, but rude." Cal grinned for the first time that day and absently chewed his fingernail before scowling and doing the same thing on the opposite hand.

"I hate having to do that." As he slid his hands into his pockets, his right wrist bumped against the Hummer. With a groan, he knocked his left wrist against the door on the same spot. "It's so damn frustrating!"

"Is there an ID on these two, Eric?" Horatio asked as he got over to where the two where standing.

Cal answered for him. "Marcus and Benjamin Flint. My parents." Horatio nodded and Cal was grateful that he didn't ask the question that anyone else would have.

"And you are?"

"Callum Mantreux. We've met before, I think." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, wondering vaguely if anyone in Miami had even shirt sleeves.

"Cal? You okay?" Eric's hand gripped his shoulder lightly both as a source of comfort and as a tie to reality. Cal murmured something about sleeves and shook his head again. "Sorry, H. Callum's pretty OCD and it bothers him when things are uneven. Like, for instance, the sleeves on your shirt." Rather than fixing the lengths as Eric had tried to do, Horatio simply rolled his sleeves down.

"My chemically imbalanced brain thanks you," Cal said with a small smile. "If it helps at all, I can tell you what kind of motorcycle the guy split on. It was a Kawasaki Ninja ZX-10R, blue or black. Maybe purple, but I couldn't really tell at the angle. It's a super bike, way cool. The guy has taste, I'll tell you that much." He glanced down at a watch that was on his left wrist and wiped his palms on his jeans several times. "I need to wash my hands…"

"I can't let you do that," Horatio said, putting his hands on his hips.

"You don't understand. It's seven thirty; I _need_ to wash my hands." He patted his pockets and wiped his palms again multiple times.

"Cal, calm down, you can wash your hands in a minute. We just need to check for any GSR, okay? Then you can wash your hands." Eric started to lead the teen away, but he didn't move.

"GSR? That's gunshot residue. Why would I have gunshot residue on my hands? My parents don't even own- Wait a minute, you think _I_ did this?" For the time being, Callum's extreme need to wash his hands was forgotten.

"We're covering our bases," the redhead deflected. Cal's jaw nearly hit the floor.

"So that includes me? What motive would I have? I love my dad and Benji. Besides, even if I could have taken my dad down like that, Benji's six-three and made of muscle. That makes him a half-foot taller than me and at least fifty pounds heavier. Wouldn't I have more injuries than a split lip?" While he was talking (yelling), Eric had been testing his hands.

"He's clean, H. Go, Cal, wash your hands." The teen nodded, clenched his jaw shut, and dashed for the closest restroom.

"Eric, the kid's got a point. Flint's a big guy. Our attacker would've had to be pretty big too, wouldn't he?" Eric nodded slowly. "Alright, I'm gonna go find Alexx. When that kid comes back, you let me know. I want to talk to him some more."

"That's gonna be a while," the Cuban said to himself.

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Callum groaned as he dried his hands on paper towels for the tenth time. He went back to the sink and turned the faucet on once again. "Just three more times, and then I'm done," he reminded himself quietly. "Just three more…" He took a deep breath and started scrubbing his hands with soap again, hating himself for doing it.

"Hey, kid, you gonna use up all the water in the sea before you're done?" Cal clenched his jaw and focused the better portion of his energy on not punching the man standing behind him who was drying his hands.

"Sir, I strongly recommend closing your mouth." The guy yanked him backwards, obviously looking for a fight.

"And if I don't?"

"Look, buddy, I'm OCD and I don't like having to wash my hands thirteen times. I also don't have to take this shit from you, okay? I'll inform you that there are a number of police officers and CSIs who are right outside that door. If you lay another finger on me, I'll go out there and tell the first person I find about the man in the bathroom who assaulted me. So, once again, I strongly recommend closing your mouth." The man scowled and spit on Cal's face before making a swift exit. Trying to control his breathing, Cal leaned over the sink and scrubbed his forehead and hands until both were red and raw.


	3. Drei

**I'm updating this a lot more than I thought I would! I wasn't going to post this today, but that lovely review I got from Dark Angel Kira (thanks so much!!!) inspired me to finish the chapter. It's not as good as I'd like it to be, but I'm a perfectionist about this stuff. I've decided to have a healthy Marisol as a character, because I think she's cool. I've only seen two episodes with her in it (the first two she's in) so I'm pretty much making her character up as I go. As always, feedback is much appreciated and (as was the case here) makes me update faster! ****Anyway, I hope you like it. ~Callum~**

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Eric frowned and glared at his watch. It must be lying. Either that, or Callum was in the bathroom for nearly an hour. Finally letting his curiosity get the better of him, he went to check it out. What he saw horrified him at first.

"Cal! Cal, what happened?" The Cuban rushed up to the teen and yanked him back from the sink. The water inside was bright red.

"Let… Let me go!" Cal yelled, straining to go back to the soap and water. His hands tried to pry Eric's arms from around his shoulders, but they couldn't get a grip because they were coated with blood.

"Callum, you're bleeding. You need to stop!"

"No!" He tried to knock Eric away, but his attempts were fruitless. "I need to get it off! I can still feel it, Eric, it's _burning_ me!" Startled, Eric jumped backwards. For a moment, Cal was too surprised at his sudden release to move. Then he rushed back to the sink and stuck his face under the running faucet.

"What's burning you? What happened?" Once the water ran clear once more, Cal stood up and scrubbed at his bloody hands. "Callum, tell me what happened."

"Some jerk off spit on me. I can still feel it! Make it go away, _please_," he moaned quietly. "Some of it got on my forehead but most was on my hands and it _won't come off_." Eric turned the water off, pushed paper towels into his godson's hands, and pulled him towards the door.

"It's in your head, Cal, you know it is!" Cal tossed the reddened paper into the nearby garbage can and Eric led him back outside. "There's nothing on your hands, okay?"

"Then why can I feel it?" he asked himself, facing away. "I shouldn't be here, Eric. You should be doing your job and I'm not letting you do that." He cocked his head slightly when he heard ten beeps from Eric's cell phone. "That's… That's Marisol's number, isn't it?" Eric raised an eyebrow.

"Someday, you're going to have to tell me how you do that. She's gonna pick you up, okay?" Cal nodded eagerly. Eric and his sister were the closest things to best friends he had because of his odd condition. He had other friends, of course, but he was exceptionally close to those two. "Go back over there and wait."

"Thanks, Eric. I'll see you later." Horatio met him at the hummers and took off his sunglasses.

"What happened to your hands?" he questioned, sounding genuinely concerned.

"I washed them five billion times more than usual."

"Ouch. Okay, I need you to tell me _exactly_ what happened this morning. Anything you remember can be helpful." Cal took a moment to gather his thoughts before taking a deep breath.

"I was coming downstairs after washing my hands in the bathroom by Benji's office- it's something I have to do four times a day, or I'll get… anxious. Anyway, I saw the guy when I was going to my dad's car. He had dark hair and was about… six-foot-four. I saw him stand up and shoot Benji once."

"Stand up?" Cal nodded, biting the corner of his lip.

"Yeah. I'm guessing Benji tried to fight back and pulled him down or something. Um, after that, my dad tried to wrestle the gun from the guy and… He was shot twice in the stomach. I tried to run for help, but the guy was faster. He grabbed me and dragged me to where my dad was dying. I don't know why. He put his gun to my head and I froze up. He told me to get on my knees. He wanted me to beg for my life, he said."

"And did you?" A wave of anger instantly washed over the teen.

"That's not relevant at all, and you know it!" He took several breaths to calm down. "Sorry. No, I told him to rot in hell. He didn't like that, so he slapped me and that's what split my lip. Then he…" Cal trailed off and suddenly found his hands very interesting to stare at.

"He what? Callum, I need you to tell me what happened."

"He was about to rape me, okay? But he heard the sirens and split. I didn't catch the plate number because it was still sort of dark, but I knew what kind it was because I'm into motorcycles. I was admiring it before I saw them. That's everything."

"Alright. Thank you, you've been very helpful," Horatio said, sliding his glasses back on as he walked away. Cal sighed and took an iPod out of his front pocket. He slid down to the ground in the same position he was in when Eric found him that morning and turned his music up almost as loud as it would go. Eventually, he closed his cyan eyes and let the music carry him away.

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"Music therapy?" Cal jumped as one of his ear buds was pulled out. "_Hola, amigito_."

"Hey, Mari. I haven't seen you in almost… Two weeks. I think that's a record for us, yeah?" Marisol laughed and hugged her friend lightly when he stood up.

"Probably. How are your hands? I heard you got salivated on." The teen cringed.

"Ugh, don't remind me. I scrubbed for a good forty-five minutes and I could still feel it. They were bleeding earlier, but they'll heal eventually."

"You're lucky Eric got worried. From the way he described it, you were about to scrub your hands off." He shook his head and followed Marisol to her car. They drove off in the general direction of Marisol's apartment.

"That's pretty close, actually. If I had my pocketknife with me, I probably would have tried cutting them off." Mari stopped at a red light and gave Cal a concerned look. "I'm _kidding_, Mari. Jeez, I carry that for protection only. Guess it didn't do much good, though, did it?" He slid his hat off and angrily threw it at his feet. "Crap!"

"Hey, you can't blame yourself, kid," she said comfortingly, ruffling his blond hair. "It's not your fault in the least." He squeaked slightly and used a metallic comb that was in his pocket to brush his hair into place.

"No, not that. Eric told me that a billion times earlier when I freaked out. I was just thinking about Mikey. He's at school, Mari. He wasn't expecting us to be home until late because of Benji's meeting and usually the only person there when he's up is my dad, but he's asleep. He doesn't know!"

"Hey, calm down, hyper beam! I thought last day was yesterday, anyhow?" Cal shook his head and rubbed his temples.

"No it's today. I was sick yesterday, which is why I was at the offices. We need to get him, Marisol, we need to tell him!" He swore loudly and ran his hands through his hair.

"I thought Eric told you to stop saying that!" Cal rolled his eyes and repeated the word exactly six times, earning him a slap to the back of the head. "You are still a child, Callum Mantreux, don't you go forgetting that!"

"Sorry, Mari, but as you can see I'm freaking out a little bit. We have to tell Mike eventually, right?" His fingers found themselves entwined in his hair and he tugged lightly from frustration.

"We'll pull him out early, but we aren't telling him until later. We don't need to ruin his day." Though he was sure that his eight-year-old cousin would be upset either way, it made sense to let Mike have his designated last-day-of-school fun.


	4. Vier

**This one gets kind of really random in the last part, but don't blame me! Blame the (necessary) three cans of Venom I had in the past hour. : )**

**I'm living up to my reputation as resident Hyper Beam, so that explains most of this stuff. I dunno. To give you a hint as to how insanely hyper I am, it took a half hour to finally get this down and edited properly, and I'm a speed demon when it comes to typing. My fingers moved too fast! I'd much rather be typing this in Romanian, by the way, but since there isn't an option for that on here yet... I'll make due with English :). ****As usual, I own nothing publicly recognizable and I heart reviews (and smiley faces!!!). Enjoy the aftermath of my three days without sleep and three cans of energy juice to make up for it. ANYWAY! READ ON PEEPZILZ! ~Callum!~  
**

Cal bit his lip as the receptionist- Miss Janet Brovach- at Mike's school asked what he needed.

"Um, I'm here for Michael Flint." Miss Brovach frowned as she looked at the screen on her laptop.

"Is the early dismissal scheduled?" Cal shook his head, not wanting to say why he was there out loud. "I'm sorry; it says here that the only people allowed to pull Michael out early are-"

"Marcus and Benjamin Flint, I know. Here's the deal, though. Mike's my little brother," sort of, "and Marcus and Benjamin Flint died earlier this morning." The words were bitter on Callum's tongue.

"Oh my," Miss Brovach said with a gasp, covering her mouth. "Hold on just a moment, okay?" Cal nodded and sat in one of the three uncomfortable chairs lined up against the nearest wall. A few minutes later, an eight-year-old boy with light blond hair and green eyes walked into the office, looking confused until he saw Cal.

"Cal! How come you're here?" Cal pouted, making an effort to put on a happy face for Mike's sake.

"What, you don't want to see me? Alright, then, Mikey, I'll just go…" Cal stood up and took a step towards the door, but Mike grabbed his hand to stop him.

"No! I wanted to know why you're here instead of Uncle Benji." Callum swallowed hard and wrote his name on the sign-out sheet.

"I wanted to pick you up early. Come on, Marisol's waiting for us."

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Eric sighed lightly as he heard noises coming from the kitchen. He knew that Cal wouldn't be able to sleep, but felt the need to check it out just in case. He made his way to the kitchen where Cal was sitting at the table with a pencil in his left hand. His eyes were rimmed in red and his hair was messy, but all that Callum seemed to care about was getting the image from his head onto the paper. He didn't even look up when Eric sat down next to him, he just kept on drawing. Finally, he set the pencil down and rubbed his tired eyes, content with what he had drawn.

"That's the guy. I'm sure of it." The drawing depicted a tall man with a gun in his hand wearing a light wife beater that clung to a muscled torso and baggy jeans. He wore glasses, but they were somewhat hidden by a shag of dark hair. Two things really stood out, though. The first was a scar that stretched across the man's left shoulder, and the other was a tattoo of a Chinese character his right wrist.

"What's that symbol mean?" Eric asked quietly, pointing to the tattoo. Cal studied it for a moment.

"Ironically enough, it means peace. Would this help at all to find the guy that killed them?"

"Yeah, that would help a lot. Are you sure this is the guy?"

"That was the guy in my dream. Dreams are your subconscious, so I was probably dreaming of the right things." Cal sighed and ran a hand through his light hair. "There's one thing that feels off, though. The guy was on a motorcycle, right? So why wasn't he wearing a jacket?" Eric wrote 'JACKET?' underneath the drawing and underlined it twice.

"We'll ask ourselves that in the morning, okay? Right now, I think you should go back to sleep. You've had a long day." Cal nodded and went back to the couch. He knew that the next day would be just as long, if not longer. On the plus side, he'd be at the crime lab with Eric because he hated being by himself. That meant he got the rare opportunity to wreak havoc on fresh bait, as he would have put it.

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_**Two days later in the Crime Lab hallway**_

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"Are those… Are you wearing H's sunglasses, Cal?" Callum grinned.

"They look better on me." Eric raised his eyebrows as a not-very-pleased Lieutenant Caine walked into the hallway. "I got bored. I wanted to piss someone off and H suddenly became a _very_ good target."

"You're going to get yourself shot at, Callum Mantreux." He shrugged.

"Probably. But getting shot _at_ is better than being shot, yeah?" Horatio saw Cal and immediately started for where he and Eric were standing. "Gotta go!" he called over his shoulder as he dashed off.

"Eric," H began, staring after the fleeing teenager. "Why is Callum wearing my glasses?" Something in the lieutenant's voice hinted that he was mildly amused, but he didn't look very pleased.

"Oh, apparently he was bored."

"So he stole my sunglasses?" Eric shrugged, not wanting to delve into the mind of a strange teenager.

"He said that they look better on him." H shook his head, rolled his eyes, and walked away.

"Am I now the dummy at target practice?" Cal asked, popping up out of nowhere. Eric jumped a foot into the air (figuratively, although it would be very funny to watch if it was literally).

"Whoa, where'd _you_ come from?"

Callum put on his most serious expression, which made Eric feel slightly uneasy. "Haven't we had this talk before?"

"What talk?" Cal sighed.

"When a mommy and a daddy get very drunk-"

"They hug in this special kind of way!" Ryan finished, popping up on Eric's other side. "Why do they have to be drunk?" Cal got a mischievous glint in his eyes. The chance was too good to pass up.

"Have you _seen_ your parents? They'd have to be absolutely wasted. Didn't you ever wonder why you're an only child?" This cause Ryan to pout childishly while Eric, Calleigh, Valera, and Cooper were all suddenly laughing at him. "You walked right into that one, Wolfe."


End file.
